


the way the daisies flow in the wind (dont let the fire rescind)

by rayline



Series: mcyt stuff lol [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, Sugary sweet, cottagecore au thing, i am Not projecting my cottagecore wants onto these men, just cottage things, really soft, short and fluffy, shut up, soft, thats it, thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayline/pseuds/rayline
Summary: Dream used to hate waking up. Used to hate the forced drag out of his bed, the slouched movement to the fridge and the digging for the occasional snack as morning haze drew his mind stiffly tight and cloudy. It sucked, mornings sucked.Well, they used to.Now Dream would wake up with a stuttering yawn every morning, glad to be here.It’d usually be the birds that woke him up. Their chirping was a litted melody and a warm, familiar embrace to start his morning. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in lovely blues and purple hues. Pretty pinks and orange drinks. The clouds dusted the sky, morning haze clinging to the rounded windowsill.A bird chirped and sang, wings fluttering against the gentle breeze to land on a nearby tree. Dreams fingers laced around the window frame, shoving aside the thin blowing curtains by his bed and pushing up the window with a slight hum to feel the breeze peel out of the sky and onto his skin. Even if only for a moment.Dream believes wholeheartedly he could stay here forever, watching the world pass by so peacefully here. So easily, so beautifully.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: mcyt stuff lol [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137227
Comments: 27
Kudos: 316





	the way the daisies flow in the wind (dont let the fire rescind)

\---

Dream used to hate waking up. Used to hate the forced drag out of his bed, the slouched movement to the fridge and the digging for the occasional snack as morning haze drew his mind stiffly tight and cloudy. It sucked, mornings sucked.

Well, they used to.

Now Dream would wake up with a stuttering yawn every morning, glad to be here.

It’d usually be the birds that woke him up. Their chirping was a litted melody and a warm, familiar embrace to start his morning. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in lovely blues and purple hues. Pretty pinks and orange drinks. The clouds dusted the sky, morning haze clinging to the rounded windowsill. A bird chirped and sang, wings fluttering against the gentle breeze to land on a nearby tree. Dreams fingers laced around the window frame, shoving aside the thin blowing curtains by his bed and pushing up the window with a slight hum to feel the breeze peel out of the sky and onto his skin. Even if only for a moment. 

Dream believes wholeheartedly he could stay here forever, watching the world pass by so peacefully here. So easily, so beautifully. He shifts where he’s sat up in the bed, eyes slipping down to a figure mumbling incoherent things into the pillow. 

George looked silly while he was asleep. Messy, unkempt hair, eyes squeezed shut and mouth left slightly ajar. Dream hummed carefully, brushing a stray lock of hair out of the others face, a smile twirling his lips. George hummed in delight and leaned forward gently into Dream’s touch, stilling and relaxing quickly when he moved his hand up to massage the top of his scalp, playing with a few stray hairs.

George looked silly while he slept, and Dream loved it all the more.

Dream would let a final glance of the sleeping boy escape his gaze before he clattered out of bed, sheets ruffling underneath his feet. Dream giggled stupidly at the way his feet pointed inwards and how utterly high off of life he felt. Morning dreariness clouding his mind and slithering into the nicks of your brain that make you feel all fuzzy and light. 

Dream scuttled out of the bedroom sloppily, still in a morning haze as his hand slipped against the cottage walls to balance himself. He dragged the oversized hoodie over his fingertips and shuffled into the soft slippers lying by the doorway. A muffled grunt followed the action, and Dream fixed his posture to glance over his shoulder to find George tousling the covers in his sleep, snuggling into the pillow. Dream let a soft smile crease his lips and crinkle his eyes at the corners.

Dream slid his feet into the kitchen, stifling a yawn with his palm as he stretched his arms backwards, rolling his shoulders down and slipping out a frying pan.

Despite it being early in the morning, Dream still hurried to make breakfast (well, hurried as quickly as a tired man could). His hands went on autopilot as they fished out the eggs from the fridge and scrambled to get a few plates. Morning exhaustion draining like sweeping sand from the man, he sat for a moment and watched the eggs sizzle in the frying pan.

The air parted and soft footsteps broke the open air behind Dream. Dream only huffed a tired sigh, faint smile tipping onto his lips. 

George gently clattered towards Dream, wrapping arms around his waist and interlacing his fingers in his front, hugging him softly and gently from behind. He let his head prop onto his shoulder, allowing his eyes to slide shut for just a moment, to melt on the other's shoulders.

It was early enough that the sweet sunrise and muddled freshly woken minds robbed the two of the ability to drink in a situation and assess if anything was a good idea or not. It wiped them clean of their doubts, their fears, the negative pent up energy that stayed stored in the little compartment in the back of everyone's heads. 

Dream hardly bristled a moment, hands still hovering above the countertop as George wrapped his arms around the man’s middle, humming into the crook of his neck a soft melody. He softened, melting into the others embrace and admittedly feeling the vibration of the hum creeping up his neck, a soft pink dusting his cheeks. 

Fumbling with his hands, he let them rest on the small countertop part in front of the stove. He couldn’t worry, and the cool morning breeze resting atop him turned into the warm feeling of George hugging his back, humming small melodies and incoherent words into his neck.

They stood there for half of a moment, resting in each other's arms and relishing the sugar-sweet warmth shared in a fragile thread sewn between them. 

Dream’s hands squirmed a bit, feeling useless as he stood there, dripping in hazy morning affection, waiting for the eggs to slowly cook, too comfortable and warm and melted in liquid love in the form of George’s gentle embrace.

Dream gently hummed, turning his head ever so slightly to George, face buried in his neck and long eyelashes brushing the soft, sensitive skin on his neck. 

“Mmm come back to bed,” George whined. Dream let a quiet laugh course through his body as he turned back to the eggs, smiling childishly and happily involuntarily. 

“I can’t, I have to go into town today.” he whispered, sliding the eggs onto plates and nudging George with his elbow carefully. “Want one?”

George hummed a yes and unlaced his fingers from his back, retreating back a few paces as Dream handed him a plate of eggs.

George grabbed a fork from the drawer, sitting down onto the countertop tiredly. Posture slouched slightly, he picked at his food a bit, taking a bite of the egg cautiously. He gently turned his gaze back to Dream, smiling giddily in a way that never ceased to make Dream’s insides churn and flow into goo. 

Dream smiled back carefully. This was perfect.

\---

There’s no specific pathway up to the town, necessarily. There are a few stones laid out in an eclectic manner and seemingly random pattern, and obviously, a large key point was the river cutting through the edge of the forest before divulging into a lovely beach and into the sea. The water flowed quietly today, tides rolling in slowly and carefully, only lightly dusting the sand underneath Dream’s feet as he hopped off his bike.

He let the bike lie against a tree that sat near the beach, adjusting the bag on his shoulder with the herbs and the like he’d sell later on.

The town itself was very small, a few stores, a few houses, a few miscellaneous shops, and of course the marketplace. A few houses rested neatly in the sand, but that was most of it. Branching out from the port was the rest of the town, a small community with people tightly knit and the same people, with a visitor occasionally. 

The houses are rustic, made of stable stone and a few bricks scattered. The port is held up by durable logs that have stood there for an age and a half, and the wood of the port is old but well known. Dream could name everyone here by name, and it was lovely.

He slipped on his flip-flops, carefully walking down the cobble path leading towards the dock. The ocean breeze blew a little harsher here, but the sun was out and beaming and the people were already out and smiling. Dream greeted a few friends with a wave, calling out ‘Hey Bad’ or ‘What’s up Sapnap?’ as he went along. 

He rounded the corner and emerged onto the port, stepping animatedly into the town waving through the usual regulars that didn’t live here, but nearby. Dream’s pace moved on his own, slow and careful and used to where it was going. He owned a small corner in the local farmers market, where once a month he’d drop by and sell herbs, vegetables, candles, crystals, fruits, soaps, honey and the like of what he had. A bit to give the people, and a bit to keep for himself. And George, of course. 

He sighed fondly, walking behind the familiar wooden stand and placing down his bag, ruffling inside and assorting the variety of things he owned (as well a few notes from George was words of encouragement, to the villagers and notes for Dream to remember about pricing and whatnot.) Shuffling the herbs by the fruits, he set a few candles on the other side, crystals reflecting the noon light streaming into the town. Not a cloud dusted the sky. Honey aroma danced on the air, soap scents only highlighting the beauty of it all. 

Dream carefully plucked an assortment of notes from his bag, shuffling to place a few by the counter on the inside of his space. While George did still come to town often, he usually still enjoyed handing out these little notes, words of encouragement. Dream thought it was sweet, at least.

Nestled in his left pocket is a few homemade candies because lord knows poor Miss Martin has two rambunctious young boys that will tear up the market if he doesn’t have candies, especially when she sometimes takes just a little too long smelling the candles and soaps. 

Dream sat on the stool gently, a smile plastered onto his face as people began poking and prodding at his items. (“Hello Mrs. Smith!” “Good to see you, Jim.”) and in between customers his fingers drummed against the pliant wood, wondering when he’d need to go to the city for extra materials. 

A few days' ride by horse, Dream or George (depending on which season it was. George was more resilient in the winter, while Dream preferred to take the warmer seasons) usually travelled to the city at the end of every season to grab any materials the little town didn’t have. Stuff like ink or pencils, paper and the like. New cooking materials, stuff neither of the two could produce on their own. Little jokes they shared about not being able to sew properly or not having the skills for metalworking. 

Dream smiled gently to the people that drew by, never bored of seeing their faces or their happy banter. It made him happy in turn. Maybe he lived a simple life, but he loved it nonetheless.

\---

There’s a lake, by the cottage. It rests in the middle of the woods, a little clearing in the middle of nowhere where a lake rests to grant the animal's water and open-air flows clearly. Flowers scatter the path back home, gardens decorating the sides of the lake carefully. There’s a few scraps of food, left by some areas some forest dwellers frequent. The forest animals place enough faith in George that they eat the food he leaves out for them, bits of bread and fresh fruits. He trusts them not to touch the garden and that he’ll share a piece with them, and they trust him too.

There’s a flower field on the other side of the cottage, nestled smoothly into the mountaintop. It’s an old, rustic little thing but it’s been there forever and it’s home. 

When Dream gets back, the moon is peering over the horizon, and the sun is dripping the world into a honey-coated sunset. A few birds tweet a little melody, and a few squirrels and deer scurry past Dream’s feet as he sets his bike down by the front of the house. He knocks on the door, purely out of habit, and lets himself in, slipping off his shoes. He closes the wooden door behind him and smiles gently when he sees George curled up on the couch, reading a new book Mr Smith had lent him a few days prior because it used to be his favourite. 

Dream slipped off his jacket, hanging it gently onto the homemade hanger and padding towards the couch, slipping onto it and snuggling closely into George’s side. George chuckles lightly as Dream drapes an arm around his shoulder. His head falls tiredly onto the boy's shoulder, watching intently as his eyes move around the page, finger slipping carefully under the page and turning it smoothly.

Dream huffs through his nose softly, eyes focusing on the words splayed across the page in a purposeful string of letters, perfectly strung sentences.

Dream murmurs quietly into the boy's neck, “What’s it about?”

George’s hands drop the book a little, better for Dream to see as he whispers along, not wanting to disturb the honey-coated silence. “There’s this little boy who can hop into a dreamworld of his own, but the government strips that power away from him and he has to learn to get it back,”

Dream hummed contentedly, eyes glazing to where George’s free hand sat on his knee and laced their fingers together smoothly, feeling content as his thumb rubbed a little pattern on the back of the man's hand. He fiddles with the gold ring on the boy's finger, smiling to himself as the boy's fingers lace through his. His heart aches with joy in a manner he’d hardly be able to put into words, ever. 

“Did you even hear what I said?” George laughs quietly. Dream lets a smile crease his face a little as he shamelessly shakes his head a little. 

“Not a word.”

George giggles liquidly and closes the book, moving briefly to set it down upon the coffee table in front of them. Dream draws his knees to his chest, still mesmerised by the ring on the boy's finger, giddy with a joy he’d never be able to explain.

God, he loved him.

Dream is snapped back into reality with a soft ‘darling.’ Dream hums and meets George’s gaze, just lifting the hoods of his eyelids and staring into his warm brown gaze. One that tasted like chocolate and felt even sweeter. 

“Hm?” Dream hummed softly.

“Love you,”

Dream smiled giddily for maybe the millionth time that day, feeling a warmth crease his cheeks. It used to take George a while to even say the simple words aloud, but now it came so easily and it felt so natural. 

“Love you too,” Dream replied, kissing the corner of the boy's lips teasingly. 

George rolled his eyes and leaned back down to Dream to peck his lips teasingly too. George, however, lingered for a moment before Dream went and pecked his husband's lips, a smile forming on his mouth.

There was a second of silence before Dream pressed his lips softly against George’s, nose tilting to gently press into his cheeks, enjoying the sweet, soft, home feeling tingling in between them. The sense of soft lips, slow and smooth, uncertain at first. Then the velvety taste of chamomile and the wet tea stuck to his lips, moving against each other, never wanting to pull away. Delicious and tender, completely indulgent secrets that remained their own muted stories for them alone. 

Dream smiled against George’s lips, a gooey smile, feeling light and cloudy and nebulous. Like he could fly, light. He felt pastel, vivid, alive, doughy warmness turning his insides into sludge. 

Dream involuntarily let his smile go large, a giddy, almost childish excitement as he giggled, moon drunk, warmth settling in the pit of his stomach and making his insides go all fluttery.

George pulled away first, in need of air, a heavy inhale and exhale, followed by a breathy laugh. Dream chimed in, understated secrets mellow and littered in the air. 

George’s mind felt mushy, slushy, held delicately here in the starlight. Brainless, silly boys, giggling in the compassionate and unspoken silence between them. Dream shifted his posture and sat, almost lying against the side of the couch. George gently curled up next to him, the sounds of the fire crackling and humming in their ears faintly. Muted, distant. 

Dream leaned in and wrapped his arms around George’s middle, letting his head drop onto his shoulder comfortably. Dream smiled, tangling their legs and similarly throwing an arm around George’s side, one hand resting by his face. 

This was comfortable, this was home. 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> just fluffy shit and projecting my wants into writing because i am a lonely mf
> 
> ok anyways hope you enjoyed uiasdjhk might turn this sort of cottagecore woodland (magic??) thing into like a series idk maybe :eyes: tell me what you think in the comments, i love reading them! thanks for reading, have a lovely day
> 
> \---
> 
> p.s dont harass creators about ships. this is fictional and for fun, obviously, and i dont ship real people, jus' love their dynamic fewhaskj anyways thanks bye


End file.
